MCR Starcollecter: I Fall Far From Grace
by pyrocue
Summary: A My Chemical Romance fanfic. A war between angels and demons has been waging and when an angel dies, Starcollecters find their souls. To his dismay, Frank is the best in the business, and business is good. He thought he could rebel forever, but when he is bribed, and thrown, quite literally, back into it, everything gets fucked up when Frankie falls for the soul he has to kill.


(My Chemical Romance Fiction)

Starcollecter Part One: I Fall Far From Grace

"Shut the fuck up, Mikey." Frank growled into the receiver of his phone as he locked up his two-story Belleview apartment. "It's just coffee."

"Coffee can lead to sex, Frankie."

It was one of those typical overcast October days in New Jersey. The early morning clouds hung high overhead, threatening the town with rain. Frank used shoulder technique to cradle his phone as he zipped up his faded _Misfits_ hoodie. He pushed down the sleeves, covering up inked arms.

"Oh! And you and Miranda would know _all _about that wouldn't you, Mikes?" he chuckled.

"You're a sick bastard, you know that?" Frank's best friend, Mikey Way groaned on the other end of the line.

"Oh, I love you too, cupcake."

"Goodbye Frank."

"Say 'hello' to the future Mrs. for me, would ya?" he yelled right before the line clicked dead.

Giggling to himself, Frank stepped off his tiny porch and onto a grimy sidewalk, breathing in smoggy air.

"Good morning, New Jersey." He whispered creepily before turning and walking the whole eight blocks to the music store he owned.

It was a slow day, indeed; hardly any customers to his small shop all day. But he managed to pass the time by annoying the hell out of Ray, the new British clerk. Frank paraded around the store, shaking his small butt in his tight jeans, singing _Disney_ songs in a degrading British accent.

But Ray just laughed. Frank liked him already. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about underground European bands and crappy old horror films. They both agreed, _Frankenstein _was the shit.

"Think you can handle locking up the store tonight?" It was evening and the sun was now low in the sky; closing time. Frank spoke to his new bushy-haired friend from England.

Ray peered around the empty store. It was dead, void of people apart from Ray and Frank. He nodded. "Yeah, I got this." He answered in his slurry British accent. Despite being in an entirely new country, Ray was smart. Frank mock-punched Ray in the shoulder, "I like you, kid."

Ray blinked, glancing down at Frank. The height difference was almost laughable. Frank was small and skinny whereas Ray was tall. "S'cuse me?" Ray knew about Frank's interests in men, although it didn't bother him he was still worried Frank might try to get in his pants.

"You've got spunk."

"Spunk, oh right, thanks, mate." He nodded.

Frank laughed and stepped behind the little desk in the backroom, picking up his backpack and flinging it over his shoulder carelessly. He closed the door which had been spray painted with black words, _'Employees only.'_ He began walking towards the shop's front door. He waved over his shoulder, nonchalantly, "See ya tomorrow." He called.

"Later," Ray returned.

Frank kicked open the door and was immediately bombarded by a rush of cold air. He shivered before smiling; he liked the cold, he liked this time of year altogether. Leaves turning various shades of red, orange and yellow, jack-o-lanterns decorating front porches, creeps running around in costumes, the cold weather, he loved it all. He turned right and began walking towards the local _Starbucks_, humming under his breath. He was on his way to meet a cute librarian he had had his eye on for the past few weeks. He kept visiting the library to check out new books he was even interested in, finally, one day he built up the courage to ask the librarian to coffee. He surprisingly said yes.

The sun had disappeared in the sky, leaving the pale moon in its wake. In the distance the sound of an ambulance was a low murmur to Frank's ears. It was dangerous walking alone in New Jersey at night, hell, it was dangerous just to be walking in Jersey, but Frank really didn't care. It's not like anyone who would be stupid enough to attack him would stand a chance. After all, he had the grace of an angel, literally. He frowned a bit, pulling up his hood and walking faster. Frank turned a corner, onto an old street and immediately saw pitch black.

They came out of nowhere, Frank would swear of it. He heard a sickening crack as his head hit the hard cement. He was unconscious for a few moments, when he woke, he was being dragged behind an old abandoned building by his ankles. The puddle of filthy rain water of the ground soaked through his shirt, leaving his entire back cold and wet. His head was bleeding slightly.

"Ass. . . . holes." Frank moaned at his attackers although he couldn't see them.

"Now, now, Francis," a cold, menacing voice spoke out of the darkness.

Frank stirred on the ground, willing himself to sit up, resulting in an immediate head rush. He knew this voice, and he didn't like it.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" the voice _tsk_ed him.

"Because attacking and innocent man who just wanted to get some coffee is definitely," his voice was dripping with sarcasm, "a great fucking way to say 'hey.'" Frank rubbed at his bruised head, blinking away his grogginess; he peered up at the beautiful man standing before him.

There were three of them, the beautiful man in the front, and his flanks, a gorgeous black-haired woman to his right and a chocolate- skinned young man to his left. The man standing in the front was obviously in charge. He was altogether, perfect. Sandy hair, smooth curvy lips, pale skin, a lean body. And sparkly green eyes. He was dressed in average human clothes, jeans and a rain jacket.

An aura of shimmery white light seemed to pulsate from all three of them.

"Miklos," Frank smiled wickedly, falsely. He felt a growing ball of fear form in his chest. Not fear for the angels themselves, but fear for what they were here to tell him. In his head Frank repeated, _I won't kill again, I won't kill again, _but he knew it was a lie.

"You still remember me after all these long years, Francis?" Miklos smiled in return, his smile didn't look feigned like Frank's.

"Of course!" Frank exclaimed, "How could I forget your pretty face?" he winked a bright hazel eye at the angel, "oh, and the name's Frank, by the way. Or Frankie."

"Frank?" the angel looked bemused. "You're actually starting to think you're a human!" he laughed a thin laugh and the other two joined in.

Frank frowned at this comment, "I _am_ a human," he muttered, peering down at his blood spilling down on the ground, mixing with the puddles of rain water. They were swirls of crimson dancing in a pool of crystal.

Miklos sighed, kneeling before Frank, he placed a hand under a thin hand under Frank's chin and pulled his face up gently. He ran a thumb over Frank's cheekbone, his lips. They were close enough to kiss, Frank noted. He drew in a ragged breath.

"Oh," Miklos whispered softly, almost lovingly, "but you're a special human, Francis." His breath was sweet and warm on Frank's face. Like being kissed by light. "You are so special. That's why you were named after an angel. So powerful, so special." Miklos leaned in and placed a gently kiss on the top of Frank's head where beads of crimson had begun to seep out. At the touch of his lips, the blood stopped flowing out, the cut was gone.

Pulling away, Miklos smiled sadly at Frank "I've missed you." He whispered only for Frank.

Frank arched an eyebrow. "Last time we met, it was 86 years ago." He spoke, sounding confused, "and you kicked my ass."

Miklos stood, looking contrite. "I don't regret doing what need to be done." He said, although his face said differently.

Frank stood, anger clear on his face. "What needed to be-? Listen to you!" he scoffed.

"I do, however," Miklos continued, "regret what I'm about to tell you."

Frank swallowed, a hard lump forming in his throat. That ball of fear constricted around his heart, but he played it off well, or so he thought, "Who died?" he asked half-heartedly joking. Miklos and the others frowned.

"Raphael." Miklos answered.

Frank gasped, he didn't know too much about the angels, frankly he never cared, but he knew that Raphael was one of the important ones, "Raphael?" he blurted out.

Miklos nodded.

Frank paused and then shook his head, making a decision he knew wouldn't end well, "No," he said.

"No?"

"I'm done with this life! I've told you I can't do it anymore!" he panicked.

"Francis, I'm sorry, you have to find his soul."

"I can't!" he cried.

"You're the best, Francis." Miklos spoke resolutely.

"Stop calling me that!" he yelled, "Someone else could do it this! Not me!"

Miklos frowned, he actually looked pained by what he was making Frank do.

"Raphael was not just some angel, we can't just trust some random _Achill_ " he used the formal word for what Frank liked to refer to as 'Starcollecter,' "to find his soul. We trust you."

"Fuck this!"

Frank gasped out in pain as his head was struck against the outside wall of the abandoned building. It was the black-haired women with her slim fingers wrapped around Frank's throat. His converse-clad feet were dangling above the ground. _Fuck genetics for making me so fucking short, _he thought.

"How dare you?" she screamed. "How could you defy Gabriel's wishes?" Her fingers tightened around Frank's neck, crushing his windpipe. He tried to talk, breath, something, but his attempts were all in vain. He rose his shaking hands to hers, wrapped around his throat, his face was turning a sickly red color.

"You do not own your life. You are Gabriel's! He created you! From his grace you were made! He gave you immortality! You own him your life!"

Frank's eyes began rolling back into his skull.

"Antonia!" Miklos yelled, "Let him go."

At Miklos' command, Antonia released her grip on Frank, he sank to the ground chocking and clawing at his throat. He sucked sweet air into his lungs. After a moment, Frank stood weakly, his face still pink.

"You bitch!" he exclaimed.

Within an instant, Antonia struck him in the face. The sick snapping sound reverberated off the walls and Frank fell to the ground once again, only to stand back up.

"Antonia, stop/

"Miklos," Frank spoke with slurred speech, spitting blood on the dirty ground, "You really need to get better colleagues," Antonia kicked him in the ribcage. "Gah!" he moaned, clutching his side, "These ones are so ill-tempered."

Antonia made a move to hit him again but Miklos stepped in, laying a commanding hand on her shoulder. "I said stop." Frank could see Miklos digging his nails into her.

"Sorry." She stepped back into her place.

"Gabriel has a message he wishes me to convey." He said to Frank.

"Bite me." Frank groaned, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve. In truth, Frank had never minded Gabriel, he actually liked him. He didn't try to pretend to be perfect like the other angels. Gabriel was in charge of angel's souls after they die, among other things, which meant he controlled Frank. It was Gabriel who had chosen Frank as a baby in his mother's womb to be immortal, an _Achill. _And it was Gabriel who had always stood up for Frank when he pissed off the angels. But right now, Frank didn't give a fuck about Gabriel's wishes.

Miklos avoided Frank's statement, "Complete this star, and you will finally get what you crave so badly, what you deserve," he smiled, "Mortality."

Frank paused. "Gabriel said that?" he asked fiercely, staring at Miklos.

"Yes."

"You aren't lying?" it was a hard concept to grasp. After 318 years of pretending to be something he wasn't, he would finally stop pretending.

"No, Francis." His face seemed honest, not a lie on it. Despite what most people believed, angels really could lie, thought they hardly did. "Find Raphael's soul. Make his star." He peered into Frank's eyes. Dark green staring into shiny hazel. "And you will be mortal."

Frank felt overwhelmed. Without warning, a laugh escaped from his lips. The kind of laugh only a 318 year weight being removed could create.

"Do you accept?" Miklos questioned hesitantly.

He chuckled, "I guess I'm not getting laid tonight," Frank closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes." He smiled. "I'll get your star."

Miklos spoke in a whisper, "Oh, Francis." Frank opened his eyes.

"This," Miklos spoke, reaching a hand into his raincoat, he pulled out a small bottle with a golden stopper. Inside the thin glass container was a small cloud of shimmering mist. "is Raphael's Grace." He said, holding the bottle out for Frank. Frank took it in his hands. He peered down at the tiny, formless mist inside. The bottle felt cool to the touch. Frank frowned a bit, thinking about how many bottles like this he had been given before. All the stars before this one. But this star was different, it was the end, the end of this life for Frank and the beginning of a new one.

When he raised his eyes back up, the angels were gone.


End file.
